


When angels fall, with broken wings

by fvartoxin



Category: Batman (Comics), Holy Musical B@man - Team StarKid
Genre: +tagged with all media types even though it deals with main AU for coverage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, As evidenced by my recent uploads that I don't mention are years old..., Been writing a lot recently because of stress, Disabled Character, Established Relationship, M/M, Mentions of alcoholism, No this is not RPF please stop asking me., Yes my Basil has Wernicke-Korsakoff. No I never mention it., some things are better than others
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:35:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27146008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fvartoxin/pseuds/fvartoxin
Summary: How does it feel to know, that, at the end of the day, you are all that remains of an eternity? Not very good, I'd wager. But we all have our ways of accepting finality, in whatever form it may come.Title from Angels Fall by Breaking Benjamin, if only because it was the first thing I thought of. [Sometimes, things just aren't that deep.] Perhaps I'm just stuck in my middle school emo phase, but Dark Before Dawn is still a lovely album.
Relationships: Clayface & Victor Fries, Victor Fries/Basil Karlo
Kudos: 1





	When angels fall, with broken wings

“I do believe, my dear, that I have completely and utterly forgotten what it’s like to feel young again.” 

“You drank yourself into lasting brain damage.” Never mind the fact that the man hovering slightly behind him no longer _had_ a brain, or that he was barely a man any longer. “Were you to remember the exact details of this conversation tomorrow, I would be very surprised.” Victor leaned back against the shapeshifter, and ignored the uncomfortable prickling of his skin that came with the usual introduction of intense heat. At least the cryosuit acted as a physical barrier; still, at times Basil was damn near unbearable to be around for someone who was particularly sensitive to warmth. ”Therefore, this is not surprising in the least.”

“Can’t exactly _die_ from it now,” he grumbled, claw-like fingers tapping against the tarnished railing of the catwalk they both perched on. “So nothing’s there to stop me, now is it?” 

“I asked you to quit smoking heavily in my presence, and you did,” he pointed out gently; then turned his head, eyes boring into the original Clayface’s blinded pair. “In terms of stimulants, you have also been clean…for several decades.” 

“Ahh. So we’re having _this_ conversation again, are we?” 

“You cannot even get drunk. _What is the point_.” The last word ended in a near-animalistic hiss, and for a moment (that seemed to stretch on forever) they stared at each other; Victor, bristling with rage, Basil still and silent. “You know I have never in my life intended to pressure you,” he continued speaking at a much slower pace, taking a shaky breath. Yet still, I cannot help but wonder. For the past thirty years, any answer of yours has always been evasive.” 

As befitting of someone who rarely if ever shut up, he didn’t stay silent for long. “Some things don’t need to be said, I believe.” 

“No,” he agreed. “But regardless, I would like to know. Compared to you I will not live forever; I believe we both know this, by now.” That was the tricky thing about life—it ended, and in some cases it was prolonged where it really shouldn’t have been. He looked away, neon blue gaze sweeping the refurbished warehouse’s floor below them, absorbed in tracking other Rogues going about their night. “We may succeed in outlasting all that we have known, but when things come down to it I will not remain.” It was less suicidal ideation than it was pure fact. 

“Fine then. _I won’t fight you_.” Basil made a sort of low rumbling noise in the back of his throat. “You could very well call it an urge for escapism, I suppose.” The usual faux-cheery lightness was present in his tone. “And habit, but I’ve mentioned that time and time again.” 

There was an uncomfortable pause. “I know damn well you don’t wish you could forget anything, but I, bluejay, am simply not cut from the same cloth.” The added ‘Nor do I want to be’ was swallowed back, tamped down to never be spoken of again. He sighed, and bent so that he could bury his half-formed face in the back of the other metahuman’s armor. “It’s been a long time since either of us were recognizably human, hmm? Years slip by like minutes, these days.”

“…For that, I do not fault you.” Through the suit, it was impossible to smell the copious amounts of gin on Basil’s breath. “It has.” His tone had slipped back into its usual unremarkable softness. “I cannot tell a lie. The Sun’s warmth is a distant memory.” Still, similar to a small child’s having the desire to pet a wild tiger, it was far better to long for the experience rather than to actively seek it out. 

Unless, that was, you were the type who desired to be grievously wounded by Nature and her many components. (Dr. Victor Fries, however, was very much not of that ilk.) “And being unable to consume most solid food is an annoyance as always.” 

“I had eyesight once,” Basil murmured, incredulously; voice somewhat muffled by the shell of metal he’d pressed himself against. “And, occasionally, feeling in my legs. _Imagine that_!”

“You also did not previously cannibalize others, Vasya. And it is likely the transformation into your current form accelerated your health issues as a whole.” His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing further on the subject. “I am unclear whether the events of our proverbial deaths have changed either of us for the better. But the die has been cast, and although I am an optimist by nature, time itself has proven we can do little about the outcome. We live, yes, but in some aspect it is only a half-life.” 

“Fish and Wildlife would have my heart on a gilded platter provided I upped the frequency of my attacks on animals,” he retorted, straightening up to his full height as he spoke. “Never mind that I no longer _have_ a heart, physically – I do need to eat every so often, and does anyone apart than you and the Bats really mind if the derelict or corrupt go missing in a more permanent manner?” 

“I do not know the answer to that question, and I do not _want_ to know. As the days go by, I realize I have come to hate this city more and more. Yet,” Victor stifled a heavy sigh, but his shoulders slumped notably. “I do not believe living anywhere else would be better, and in this situation I cannot abandon everything I have worked for. Or waste time.” 

Gotham City? Improving, in any capacity? Hell would freeze over first, and perhaps the Sun would implode too. “You have me, Victor,” he stated, for that was all he could offer. All he _knew how to offer_ , to an extent. “For as long as we both live.” And, inevitably, until the very death of the universe as they knew it. 

“And in some manner that is enough.” Then he stopped talking, scanning the mingling crowd below for the distinctively bright suit his ( _their_ , really) adopted son so often wore.


End file.
